Karma
by Ada Kensington
Summary: Result of a Karma prompt for a fanfiction contest. Short, twisted, creepy, nasty...


Karma

* * *

The gathering clouds cast a drifting shadow over the red twilit sky of Konohagakure, like a livid bruise blooming upon battered flesh. A storm rages. Raiden's drums rumble a dire warning as white lightning crackles along the linings of the clouds overhead, and the six winds of Fujin howl about the mountains and bend the trees to breaking point. 

A shadow slips into the village; up and over the south wall in one fluid movement.

_I cannot be seen. It is imperative that I am not seen..._

Mikaboshi quickens his steps, ducking into an alleyway out of sight of a passing couple who laugh and screech as they attempt in vain to avoid the sudden downpour. The water dragons shake the heavens and fat droplets of rain plummet towards the earth in great, wavering sheets, having already churned the ground underfoot into a mire. Despite the almost cathartic release the arrival of the storm has provided for the churning, boiling sky overhead, an oppressive heat pervades.

No one in their right mind would be out in such weather. No one should have been out in this weather; but such was the innocent, instinctive doggedness of the people of the Leaf. While the lanterns swung wildly in the wind, children splashed in puddles. A clutch of solemn looking men brought their shougi boards out of the rain and under an awning, defying the elements with casual indifference. Street vendors continued to hawk their wares; chefs served their particular delicacies, piping hot and fresh from the pot. Old women haggled in the market stalls, where the mingled aromas of spices, tea, leather and honey infused with that of lightning and stratosphere to create another which was at once familiar and otherworldly.

Crouching behind a stack of discarded, empty crates that were rife with the stink of lobster, Mikaboshi smiled wryly as he watched the villagers milling around. Such was the innocent, instinctive doggedness of the people of the Leaf, he thought to himself - a quality that had once filled him with a sense of pride and belonging.

But no more.

_Konoha is dead to me now. After this, I can never return..._

For not more than a day ago, Mikaboshi had killed his companion, Hyuuga Hayato, in cold blood for a handsome fee. Now the deed was done, and all that was left for him was to gather his possessions and flee to his providers - the elders of the Hidden Cloud. Despite the storm, however, the accursed villagers would not leave the streets! Their brazen defiance was costing him time - time he did not have!

Ah, well. As long as he stayed out of sight, he would be content to wait. They would be worn down eventually, as sure as the wind and rain, in time, erode even the loftiest and most venerable of mountains.

And so he sits.

And he waits.

And as he sits, and as he waits for the sky to darken, he ponders upon the nature of his friend's demise. He is sure he will remember it for a long time to come.

It was strange...

A kunai to the throat - that was all it had taken - and how the mighty had fallen. Hayato had sunk to the floor, his knees giving way underneath him as the gurgling, shuddering throes of death took him. He had laid Hayato down then on the grass, blood already soaking through his gloves and drying under his fingernails, smooth, dark and rich - staining everything it touched. A curious tableau presented itself then before his eyes: the sight of Hyuuga Hayato writhing in pain at his feet banished every futile deed he had ever dared under the thumb of Konohagakure, and with that revelation, he had smiled as he had watched his comrade die. Hayato's pale eyes had been open, lashes beaded in silver tears, pleading for something - arms already fallen away onto the ground, ponderously heavy. A final, rattling gasp for air, and he was gone.

One door had closed. A bridge had been burned. Yet Mikaboshi had felt nothing - absolutely nothing. Though that was not wrong, surely? He had been raised a ninja, after all. Fulfil your mission at all costs. Do not let others stand in your way. Emotions are a weakness. That was what he had been taught, and as an ANBU member, was he not meant to set a good example?

But no matter, for as surely as one door had closed behind him, another, more inviting, had opened before him. Hayato was dead. His had been the hand that had done the deed. There was no time for introspection. He had to act, and act now.

From his safe place in the shadows, then, he watches as midnight comes and goes. The rain still drives with a ferocity unparalleled, and only now are the streets are beginning to clear. The oppressive heat has lifted, and its replacement, a chill wind, howls down the streets, rattling roof-tiles and battering against window panes. The way lies open. Time to move.

With a small smile, Mikaboshi emerges from the shadows and makes to creep down the little street that leads to his home. Within a matter of minutes, he will be leaving the Hidden Leaf for good. The thought cheers him and, perhaps due to his high-spirits, he becomes careless, forgetting to mask the sound of his footfalls upon the wet ground.

From the second floor window of an apartment building across the road, a pair of yellow eyes the colour of bitter wine watch his progress, unblinking. The splash of each eager footstep carries on the wind towards keen and curious ears, and at the sight of the lone ANBU member, a pale finger rises to trace the outline of thin lips, curved upwards in a predatory smile. They whisper, "You will do nicely..."

Outside, Mikaboshi fumbles for his keys, his hands slick with blood and wet by the driving rain. There is a rustle behind him - a dry noise like smooth scales on grass - but he does not hear it, for the wind is howling and the rain is pounding upon the rooftops.

He does not see him until it is too late.

There is a scream, cut off abruptly by a sickening crunch.

Then silence.


End file.
